Stuck
by ricochet24
Summary: A boy, a girl, and a casket.


_**Stuck**_

Ellie anxiously tugged at the high lace neckline of her blouse and stared at her reflection in the small mirror, scrutinizing for any wrinkles, both in her outfit and on her face. The toll of the events of the past week were etched into the dark bags under her eyes and the lines across her forehead, as well as in the repetitive clenching and unclenching of her hands into fists. She wished she was back in New York where her life after graduate school had just began, and she was enjoying her new job at _People_ magazine. Hell, she'd even take being back in high school or as an undergraduate if it meant being out of this moment. Any place was better than standing in a small, cold room staring at yourself as you tried to find the courage to attend your mother's funeral.

"You look fine."

"Is that really you?" She didn't bother glancing towards the door. She just stared straight ahead, trying to muster up a new kind of courage to face a different struggle, one that just presented itself in the form of an ex-lover.

Sean edged closer to her, hands in pockets. "Who else would it be?"

Ellie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. "I haven't seen you in years. How did you even know about-..."

"Craig called."

"Oh. Well, thanks..."

She squeezed past Sean and perched herself on the edge of a chair, still careful not to meet his eyes; she told herself that she was sitting down because she was tired, not because she was shaking so much at the mere thought of him that she could barely stand.. If there was one thing that Ellie knew- and she wasn't too sure of knowing anything these days- it was that she was desperately hanging on to her last thread of sanity. Anything could set her over the edge at this point. Especially boys with dark blonde hair and rippling muscles. Or, you know, the fact that her mother was in a _casket_.

Sean sat in the chair across from her and reached for a hand, which she jerked away. "So, how are you holding up?"

She focused on smoothing out her black pencil skirt. "Maybe I shouldn't have worn black; I always wear black. And aren't you supposed to look different at a funeral?"

"You're always different. That's something I really admire about you."

Ellie could tell by the tone of his voice that they were heading into dangerous territory. "Listen, thank you for being here, but I really can't think about the past right now. I'm at a funeral, for Christ sakes, and here you are trying to- trying to do whatever you're trying to do."

"I'm trying to comfort you. That's all. No strings attached."

"No strings attached?" She was aware that her voice was raising uncontrollably. "Does that even exist? Someone always wants something..."

Like her mother... Her mother had always wanted forgiveness. It didn't matter how many promises had been broken or the number of times she had made Ellie feel like she wasn't good enough, she demanded to be forgiven. And like the weak, naive, desperate child she was, Ellie always gave it to her. After all, being taken advantage of, being stomped on, being humiliated was always better than being lonely.

"Marco said she...," he paused to lick his lips. "She..."

"Drunk driver," Ellie finished, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. "How's that for irony. An alcoholic killed by an alcoholic. If it hadn't been that, it would have been liver failure. After all the promises and all the meetings and all... they were lies. She _never_ got better. Maybe I knew all along, but I don't think I wanted to accept it. I just pretended all this time that I never noticed... Guess that makes me an accessory to a crime, huh?" She spat out on her sandpaper tongue, fighting back the scream that was building in the back of her throat.

He started to reach for her again but thought better of it when he saw the look she gave him. "You're not a killer. She was sick. Face it, we're _all_ sick."

"When did you become so philosophical?"

Sean smirked. "I'm fucking twenty-seven. It comes with age."

Ellie slipped down from the arm of the chair, trying desperately to just disappear into the cushion, and gazed up at the white ceiling. "God, when did we get so _old_?"

"I don't know... Maybe it was after the shooting."

Ellie felt her back stiffen. "The first time you talk about the shooting with me, and you want it to be at my mother's funeral?" Her tone was accusatory, and she meant it that way. There were still a lot of hard feelings between them, even if he didn't think so.

"Not the first time."

She stared at him for a second before realizing. "Oh, right. The beach. How could I forget?"

He sighed. He could tell she was still pissed about what happed in Wasaga Beach. He knew she had a right to be mad, but, still, another part of him wondered why she couldn't just get over it. Why couldn't she just _look_ at him and see just how sorry he was? He was practically emitting remorse through his fingertips. "Listen, we need to talk about-..."

"I hate your hair," she cut him off. He knew what this was. This was her avoiding him. The past. Everything. She had always done this. It had been the same way with her cutting. The image of him innocently unzipping her CD case only to find her cutting paraphernalia came to mind. And then she had just gone on and on about getting a pet and decorating the apartment, as if he could just _ignore_ her problem.

"You should have Emma's mom cut it."

She was testing him.

"Does she even know you're here?"

Sean shook his head slowly, unable to erase the guilty look off his face. Why hadn't he told Emma? What _was_ he afraid of? It's not like they were even that close anymore. If anything, they were only still together out of convenience; they didn't like to be alone, and with each other they weren't. They hadn't even taken the next step of moving in with each other, and Sean had never really stopped to think why that was.

He couldn't recognize the look on Ellie's face and that saddened him. He used to know every expression. Every smile, every grimace, every wrinkle in her forehead... He had memorized all her movements during the nights they would lay in bed and just stare at each other, each of their fingers spinning webs with the other's. Now a series of unreadable emotions flashed across her face, the corner of her mouth tugging slightly every few seconds. Sean wondered if this was what Ellie felt after the shooting when she looked at him. Helpless. Unworthy. Useless. If it was... Well, if it was, he didn't know what to think.

"Things aren't that good with Emma. We're just kind of... stuck," Sean explained. "Bet that makes you happy."

_Now_ he could read the expression on her face. Hurt. "You honestly think I would want you to be unhappy?"

"No, I didn't- I didn't mean it like _that_. I just... I want things to go back to the way they were." He tried fumbling around for the words, but nothing sounded right.

She didn't bother agreeing. She wouldn't mind going back to times when Sean was hers and her mother was alive either. Back then she actually believed she stood a chance at being happy; that maybe her and Sean would get married and her dad wouldn't have to go back to Kabul and her mom wouldn't have to turn to a bottle.

"How's your dad handling everything?"

She closed her eyes briefly, the mention of her father sending a new type of ache in her heart. "He walks around like a zombie. I don't think he's slept. I think he hopes that she'll walk through the door."

"That's rough."

"Yeah," her voice broke. Slightly. She wouldn't allow it any more than that. "Sometimes I find myself thinking maybe- maybe he's right. Maybe if we just wait... I need to take care of him, and how can I do that from New York?"

"He'll find a way of dealing. You don't need to give up your entire life."

"Yeah, well, he's the family I have left."

"It's okay to admit you need help..."

"Oh, is that what you did after the shooting?" Ellie snapped, jumping from her seat to cross the room. She busied herself with her neckline again.

Sean shoved his hands through his hair. "What do you want from me, Ellie?"

She spun around. "I want an _apology_!"

"I_ gave_you one when I came back!"

"And it sounded _so_ sincere! You acted like you couldn't believe I was still pissed at you! Like I had no right to feel angry or sad or... You just totally disregarded it, and I'm so fucking _sick_ of being disregarded!"

"Okay."

"No,_not_ okay! Nothing is _ever_ okay! My mom's dead, my dad's fucked up in the head, and _I'm_ just fucked up everywhere! Do you know how I spent yesterday? In bed. With a handle of Vodka. My mom is killed by a drunk driver, and I spend the night before her funeral in bed getting _wasted_. Does that seem right to you?"

She was babbling, and at this point Sean could see how scary she was beginning to look. This wasn't the same Ellie he had known before. This version of Ellie was maybe even a bit more unhinged than the one he had fallen in love with. And in his mind, Sean couldn't help thinking of the sociopath who smiled with ease despite the seven dead bodies in the shed in his backyard. Not that he saw her as a sociopath or anything. Not at all. She was just... a little wounded. She still had some scars, after all.

But it didn't matter. He still loved her like he had loved her previous self. Battle scars and all.

"It sounds to me like you're not letting yourself grieve properly." Maybe he would write Ms. Sauve and let her know that he finally understood what she had said all those years ago after the counseling circle he had mocked at the time.

Her eyes flashed and she pulled at the hem of her shirt. "I have to_go_."

She brushed past, barely looking at him. He stood where he was, hands in pockets. Maybe she just needed space. Or maybe she just needed time for his words to sink in. Whatever she needed, he was suddenly afraid that maybe he wasn't able to give it to her. Or worse, that she didn't want it from him.

Ellie paused, her hands resting on the doorway, and mustered all the strength she had in her to look back. "Well," her voice hoarse. "You coming or not?"

He nodded and crossed the room, placing a comforting hand on her stiff back as she led the way to the service.

The service wasn't long. Ellie's aunt gave the eulogy, Marco wept for his best friend, and Alex threatened to take care of the offender through a friend in jail. Sean sat between Craig and Spinner a few benches behind Ellie, carefully watching her for some sign that she might need him. He was amazed by how poised she stayed throughout the entire service, even when she led her sobbing father down the aisle behind the pallbearers.

The burial was immediately after the service in the neighboring cemetery. The sky was overcast, and Sean was thankful Emma had handed him the umbrella before he left, even as he grumbled about how unmanly it made him feel to carry it around. Still, he carried it discreetly under his arm. Most of the mourners left after the casket was lowered, but Ellie stayed behind. Sean watched as a few of the stragglers who had arrived late gave her their sympathies.

I'm sorry for your loss.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

I'm terribly sorry for your loss.

The corner of her mouth tugged again. It began to pour but she didn't seem to notice. Sean jogged over to her, pushing his umbrella up as he went. He held it up over both of them, standing close to her. He wanted to say something to her that would tell her everything she needed to know, but he couldn't think of anything. Everything he could possibly think of to say at the moment sounded so trite, except...

"I'm sorry."

What he had been trying to say the entire time, the only thing that sounded _right_.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she shut her eyes for a moment. And then...

"Thank you," she sputtered, her chest heaving with sobs. Because he had meant it. And suddenly everything felt so real to her. And she was alone and just needed someone to be near her.

His arm pulled her closer to him, and she clutched onto his suit jacket for dear life with her small hands. He'd meant it when he told her he still felt the same all those years ago in the coffee shop. He still felt it. All of her, even her self-proclaimed fucked up parts, meant everything to him. And for the first time in years he didn't feel stuck.


End file.
